


This is Halloween

by Pigzxo



Series: Rovinsky Holidays [5]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 05:53:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12524464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: Approaching Halloween, Kavinsky is out all hours of the night and Ronan is worried sick for him. This is already taking a toll but then come the final straw: Declan is selling the Barns and Ronan can't handle it.





	This is Halloween

Ronan tried his best to look like he’d been sleeping when he heard Kavinsky’s key in the door. With the blanket pulled up to his chin and the bags under his eyes, maybe he’d get away with it. But with his third horror movie of the night just starting, maybe he didn’t expect to.

            He yawned wide as the door opened and made a show of blinking open his eyes. Glancing towards the lit doorway, he saw only the silhouette of Kavinsky. The skinny boy had finally gained some weight, looked less like a skeleton in the low light, and when he flipped on the overhead light, Ronan flinched and groaned.

            “Don’t pretend you were asleep,” Kavinsky said as he tossed his keys onto the table. He shrugged out of his jacket. “You sleep like the fucking dead. Someone could shoot up the house and you wouldn’t blink.”

            “That’s not true,” Ronan said.

            “It’d be true if you ever fucking slept.”

            Ronan watched as Kavinsky moved into the kitchen and stuck his head in the fridge. He had nothing to say, no words to explain. It was useless anyways to offer up some half-assed lie when Kavinsky already knew the truth. So instead, Ronan said, “Where were you?”

            Kavinsky sighed. He slammed the fridge door and turned to look at Ronan with the kind of bored, tired look that Ronan had gotten pretty used to in the last few months. “The same place I’ve been every night this week, Lynch. The same place I’ve told you’ve I’ve been every other time you’ve asked. I was at _work_. You know, that thing people do to earn money so they can afford to live in crappy places like this?”

            “I thought you had enough money from your trust fund.”

            “Don’t get the full thing for a few more years, Lynch. And money’s tight.”

            “Stop calling me that.”

            “What? Lynch?” Kavinsky made a show of pretending he had no idea it annoyed Ronan. He circled around the counter to walk to the back of the couch so he was looking down at Ronan’s twisted form, faking a frown. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

            “We’re engaged. Call me by my first fucking name.”

            “You don’t call me by mine.”

            “You don’t like yours.”

            Kavinsky bent down and kissed Ronan on the lips. He snaked his hand under Ronan’s chin to tilt his head up uncomfortably as he pressed their lips together harder, got his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. When he pulled back, he continued to stroke his fingers over the length of Ronan’s neck, the sensation tickling and disquieting.

            “I’m getting a little tired of asking you to trust me, _Ronan_ ,” Kavinsky said, his voice soft and threatening at the same time. Ronan felt his pulse pick up as Kavinsky’s nails scraped over his Adam’s apple. Kavinsky leaned in and whispered in his ear, “So very tired, baby girl.”

            Ronan hated when Kavinsky tried to distract him from the conversation at hand by getting him going. However, Ronan also hated trying to have conversations with Kavinsky in the middle of the night. But—

            “I want to trust you,” Ronan whispered. He made himself meet Kavinsky’s dark eyes, steeled himself for the retaliation. “I do trust you. But... I can’t handle you being out all hours of the night. I can’t handle not knowing with absolute certainty where you are. Because it just makes me feel like...”

            “Like I’m on drugs again.” Kavinsky’s voice dropped and his hand fell away. With a sigh, he flopped into the spot on the couch next to Ronan. There was a moment of deathly silence, a moment of only their breathing, and then he reached over to take Ronan’s hand. Ronan glanced over at him but Kavinsky was focused on their fingers, playing with the way they intertwined, softly tracing the calluses and scars on Ronan’s skin. Ronan squeezed his hand, hiding all their hardships away, and Kavinsky met his gaze.

            “I don’t want to worry about you,” Ronan said, “but I don’t know how not to.”

            Kavinsky bit his tongue as his eyes dropped from Ronan’s to his lips, his throat, his chest. With a sigh, Kavinsky said, “It’s just for a few more weeks, okay? A few more weeks and I’ll be home every night, I promise.” He hesitated, then added, “Can you trust me for that long?”

            “Of course.”

            “Will you sleep?”

            Ronan let a sad smile slip onto his lips. “I’ll try.”

            Kavinsky leaned forward and kissed him in a way that Ronan was still getting used to. The soft, caring kiss of Kavinsky’s that let him know he was loved better than any words every would. Kavinsky caressed his cheek, cradled his chin in the palm of his hand. And Ronan knew, the same way he knew every time Kavinsky kissed him like this when he left for work, when he came home, when they woke up in the morning, that there was nothing to worry about.

 

Late the next morning, Ronan woke to a phone ringing. He groaned, too tired to deal with it and sore from the weight of Kavinsky asleep on top of him. Kavinsky didn’t even move, didn’t grumble, and he thought _Ronan_ was the deep sleeper. Muttering curses, Ronan tried to shift on the couch well enough to look for his phone but when he saw it on the counter, it was clear it wasn’t ringing.

            Ronan glanced down at Kavinsky. The other man had fallen asleep with his face pressed to Ronan’s chest and a drool stain showed on Ronan’s shirt. With a sigh, Ronan ran a hand through Kavinsky’s spiky hair while he reached into his back pocket with his other hand. Kavinsky reacted to the touch, groaning a bit and pressing his hips into Ronan’s legs, but Ronan ignored him as he pulled out the phone.

            He frowned. “Who do you have listed in your phone as _Dick_?”

            Kavinsky was suddenly awake. Very awake. He shot up, grabbed his phone, and shifted off Ronan completely. He hit the button to answer and said, “Is it done?”

            Ronan frowned as the voice on the other end of the line spoke. Kavinsky’s phone volume was turned up enough for Ronan to hear static crackles but not much else.

            Kavinsky sighed. “You’re kidding.” He paused. “Yeah, of course I know you’re not fucking kidding, you asshole. Fuck. I...” Kavinsky glanced at Ronan then looked away fast, taking a deep breath. “I can’t talk about this now. I’ll call you later.” He moved to hang up, stopped, then sighed and snapped, “Yes, of course, send me your fucking ridiculous schedule so I know when to call. The fuck.” He hung up and tossed his phone. It skidded across the coffee table and hit the floor. Kavinsky blinked at it.

            “What was that about?” Ronan said.

            Kavinsky scrubbed a hand down his face. “Don’t worry about it.”

            Ronan hesitated. He pulled himself up into a seated position, considering, and watched the side of his fiancé’s face. Then he reached forward and threaded their fingers together, squeezed. “I am worried about it,” he said, soft. “Please don’t... K, I can’t let things that cryptic go.”

            Kavinsky forced a smile that was anything but soft as he glanced over at Ronan. Leaning forward, he pressed a brutal kiss against Ronan’s lips and pulled back saying, “A few more weeks, babe. I promise.”

 

Ronan spent those few more weeks worried out of his mind. But he kept quiet. He knew Kavinsky had earned his trust and he did trust him. He trusted Kavinsky to make good decisions and tell him the truth and try to stay clean. But actually stay clean? He knew his fiancé was an addict acting as a bouncer at a club where drug activity was sure to go down. He knew his fiancé had about as much self-control as a cat faced with a ball of yarn.

            Kavinsky did his best to assuage his worry. Ronan should have known that he had a shit poker face when it came to Kavinsky. Kavinsky kissed the top of his head when he came home late, pulled him in to cuddle in the middle of the night, left pee samples on the kitchen counter every morning. Every once in a while, he pulled Ronan into a long hug and said, “I promise you that everything is all right,” and for a few moments, Ronan would believe him.

            On Halloween, Ronan finally had a distraction from his constant worry about his boyfriend. And that distraction came in the form of a call from the Lynch family lawyer telling him that Declan was selling the Barns. The lawyer said, “Technically, I’m not required to alert you of the transaction. But knowing your attachment to the place, I thought you should know.”

            Ronan managed to keep it together while on the phone with the lawyer but the moment he hung up, he hurled his phone across the room. It crashed into the wall, leaving a huge dent, and the phone toppled to the floor. Ronan cursed loudly.

            “The fuck, Lynch?” Kavinsky poked his head out from the bedroom, yawning. “It’s too early to be so angry.”

            “Declan’s selling the Barns.” Ronan wanted to be mad. He wanted to justify Kavinsky’s statement. But instead his voice came out hollow, broken, as dead inside as Kavinsky used to sound. Ronan swallowed hard, fighting tears he couldn’t even muster, and then involuntarily burst into bitter laughter. “He’s selling my whole life. The only thing I care about. Because, why? Who knows? It’s Declan. Maybe he needed to buy another fucking yacht.”

            Kavinsky’s face had dropped its usual neutral expression in order to show full-blown concern. And that alone worried Ronan more than anything he was feeling on the inside. Kavinsky approached him like he would a wild dog, his steps soft, his arms open and inviting. Ronan felt himself fall against Kavinsky, felt the other man stumble under his weight, felt the whole world tilting under him.

            “I’m sorry,” Kavinsky whispered. He pressed a kiss just below Ronan’s ear and Ronan felt him shake. Or maybe he was shaking. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Kavinsky cursed under his breath. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

            “It’s not your fault.” Ronan’s voice didn’t sound like his own. He sank down to the floor, Kavinsky slowly letting him go, and he buried his face in his hands. “The new owner takes possession today. The transaction’s complete. There’s... there’s nothing I can do.”

            Silence overtook the apartment. Silence except for the wind whistling through the broken windows and the constant drip of their faulty kitchen sink. Ronan swallowed hard, trying to reconcile the sounds with the sounds of his _home_. This place had always been temporary to him, always been not quite real, because the Barns had always been out there, waiting, ready for him when the time came, when Declan came to his senses, when Ronan got on his feet and could make a legal play for the property. The Barns had always been home. The apartment had just been a cold replacement, a dream Ronan was having, a house to stay in.

            It took a moment but Kavinsky left the room. Ronan tried to care about that, tried to care that his fiancé couldn’t even be bothered to stay in the same room as him as his world crumbled to pieces, tried to see it as a sign that their relationship wasn’t working out. But it didn’t matter anymore, couldn’t matter. Without the Barns, Ronan would gladly take back pre-rehab Kavinsky as his fiancé. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

            He heard Kavinsky’s voice, low and worried, in the other room. Ronan wondered who he was talking to, if it was the mysterious _Dick_ again, if even right now, Kavinsky was more worried about his sketchy plans than anything else.

            The voices cut off abruptly. The door opened. Kavinsky was back at his side.

            “Get up,” he said.

            “Why?”

            “Because we’re leaving.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “You’ll fucking see.”

            Kavinsky grabbed him under the armpit and hauled him to his feet. Ronan did the least possible to help him, practically dead weight, but he didn’t care. He stumbled forward when Kavinsky pushed him towards the door, robotically put on the coat he was offered and let himself be half-led, half-shoved out of the apartment, down the hall, and into Kavinsky’s car.

            Kavinsky’s car that was inexplicably the same as one of the white Mitsubishis from his Fourth of July party. Maybe he’d stolen it. Maybe he’d bought it with the money from his international drug smuggling ring. Ronan didn’t have the energy to question it as he flopped into the passenger seat and leaned up against the door, barely even seeing the parking garage.

            “Put on your seatbelt,” Kavinsky said as he slammed the driver’s side door. And then, when Ronan didn’t move, “Put on your fucking seatbelt.”

            Ronan still made no move to do so. He stared blankly at the grey wall in front of them.

            Kavinsky sighed. With rough fingertips, he tilted Ronan’s chin so that he could look him in the eyes. But Ronan could barely see Kavinsky, could barely see the brokenness he loved so much. His black eyes blurred and sparked. “Baby girl,” Kavinsky whispered, “do you trust me?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then put on your seatbelt and let me fix this.”

            Ronan hesitated. He wanted to take back saying he trusted Kavinsky because he couldn’t trust him to fix _this_. There was no fixing this. He wanted to take back saying he loved him, wanted to take back everything, wanted to ruin his entire fucking life in a streak of stupidity that would haunt him until the end of days. He could see it clearly – he’d dump Kavinsky, Kavinsky would ram the car into the wall, he’d end up injured beyond repair, Ronan would walk away, sleep on Gansey’s couch, become a drug addict, end up emulating the old Kavinsky and die in an alley somewhere, his body not found for days, his eyes eaten by rats. And worse than being able to see it, he _wanted_ it.

            Kavinsky swiped his thumb over Ronan’s bottom lip. “Baby,” he whispered, his voice shards of glass, his voice shaking, his voice everything Ronan should be at the moment – broken and desperate. “Please put your seatbelt on. Please.”

            Ronan felt his hands move before he’d made the conscience decision to do so. While he struggled with the seatbelt, Kavinsky kissed him. The press of his lips was hard and clarifying and made Ronan shake with fear over the fact that he’d ever felt like he could give them up. Kavinsky pulled away and started the engine.

           

The drive was long, Ronan knew that much. Where they were going, what they were doing, Ronan couldn’t say. He was in and out of it. Sometimes he fell asleep to the rumble of the road and Kavinsky’s heavy metal playlist. Sometimes he simply spaced out and was brought back to reality by Kavinsky’s hand on his leg, his fingers rubbing the inside seam of his jeans.

            When Ronan came back to the real world and the real world looked familiar, he felt his heart twist in his chest. He knew this road. He knew where it led.

            “Pull over,” he said.

            “What?”

            “Pull the fuck over!”

            Kavinsky hit the brakes. The tires squealed, spit up dust, and the car came to a stop at the side of the road, half in the dead grass.

            Before Kavinsky could look over at him, before words could come out of his mouth, Ronan reached over and started to undo his jeans.

            “What are you doing, Ronan?” The fear and worry in Kavinsky’s voice was palpable.

            “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

            Ronan’s fingers shook. He managed to get Kavinsky’s jeans open, then slipped his hand into his boxers. He felt Kavinsky’s breath leave his body as Ronan ran his hand over his length, quick and unskilled, trying to create a reaction even though his whole body was shaking and overwhelmed.

            “Ronan...”

            “Shut up.”

            Kavinsky’s hand came down on the back of his head and Ronan felt himself calm. He was ready to be pushed down, held down, but instead Kavinsky just stroked his hand through the few hairs on Ronan’s head. He let the weight of his palm fall to the back of Ronan’s neck as Ronan started to shake again, as he felt the tears come back to his eyes. With a sob, he pressed his face against Kavinsky’s thigh and started to cry in earnest.

            “It was supposed to be a surprise,” Kavinsky said after a minute. “It was going to be a damn good surprise.”

            Ronan sniffled, confused but not in control enough to ask what Kavinsky was talking about. He let the silence settle, let Kavinsky rub his neck and back. He became uncomfortable with his face pressed into the wet spot made by his own snot and tears on Kavinsky’s jeans. But he didn’t pull away, didn’t move.

            “I was working because the terms of my trust fund are very clear. I get the money on my twenty-fifth birthday or when I can prove I can take care of myself and my money. Dick was helping me with the legal stuff.” Kavinsky swallowed. “Gansey. He was helping me.”

            Ronan felt his breathing calm and his brain started to work, to piece it together.

            “We thought we might not be able to get it done in time for the party but... it worked out. It would have been perfect if Declan’s stupid property lawyer could have kept his mouth shut.”

            Ronan raised his head, looked up at Kavinsky. He was looking out the window, his expression far away. Ronan said, “K?”

            Kavinsky looked back at him, his expression soft and tortured. He played with the tag of Ronan’s shirt. “I got my trust fund back. A couple days ago. And I bought the Barns from Declan. And I thought... I thought you being worried about me working was a good price to pay for pulling it off but... it wasn’t. And I’m sorry.”

            “You bought the Barns?”

            “Yes.”

            Ronan stared up at him. “We own the Barns?”

            “Yes.”

            Ronan swallowed hard and started to cry again despite himself. Before Kavinsky could worry, Ronan hoisted himself up and landed a heavy kiss on his fiancé’s lips. He kissed him sloppily, messily, getting tears and snot all over him and laughing. Kavinsky laughed too, pulling him further in, tears sparkling in his eyes when they separated.

            “I didn’t want to hurt you,” Kavinsky whispered. “I just thought... I didn’t think it would be this hard on you.”

            Ronan kissed him again. “I love you.”

            “I love you too, Ronan.” Kavinsky sniffed and then forced a smile. “Do you want to see our new home? I promise nothing’s changed.”

            Ronan nodded.

 

Kavinsky cut the engine and they sat in silence on the Barns’ driveway. The place where Ronan’s father was killed. The place he hadn’t been allowed to go to in years. With shaking hands, Ronan opened the car door and got out. He looked up at the sprawling farmhouse, the home he’d been missing for so long, and struggled to take a breath.

            Kavinsky wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. Kissing his temple, he whispered, “Do you want to go get the keys?”

            Ronan nodded, at a loss for words. The two of them headed up to the front porch where Declan stood looking zero percent amused and one hundred percent annoyed. He said, “You brought him with you.”

            “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

            Declan sighed and held out the keys to Kavinsky. “Well, congrats. It’s all yours.”

            Kavinsky shook his head. “Give them to Ronan.”

            Declan raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He turned to Ronan and Ronan couldn’t find it in him to look his brother in the eye, not when the keys to his favourite place in the world were dangling from Declan’s fingers. Ronan reached out and Declan snatched them back. Ronan looked up.

            “If I here that even one bad thing happened here—”

            “Nothing will happen,” Kavinsky snapped. He snatched the keys from Declan and shoved them into Ronan’s palm, almost violently. Ronan didn’t care. He had the keys to the Barns in his hand. The keys to his home. He stared at them like they were diamonds while Kavinsky went on, “This is my house now so I ask that you skedaddle the fuck off my property.”

             Declan huffed but didn’t protest, just made his way off the front porch.

            Kavinsky elbowed Ronan in the ribs. “You gonna let me into the house or not, Lynch?”

            Ronan looked up at him. He wondered if Kavinsky actually knew what that question meant, actually knew what he was asking. And from the look in his eyes, he did. He knew what the Barns meant to Ronan. He knew what had happened in the driveway. He knew that this wasn’t just a home to Ronan, wasn’t just a place he loved, but was a piece of his soul. And he’d worked his ass off to give it to him.

            “I don’t have to come in,” Kavinsky said.

            “No,” Ronan said. “I want you to. I want to...” Ronan trailed off and looked back at the keys in his palm. “This is my home, always has been, but I want it to our home. I want to start a life with you here. I want this to be ours.”

            “I want that too.”

            Ronan took a deep breath and unlocked the front door. Inside, everything was exactly how Ronan remembered it. He ran his hand over the walls, the plastic-covered furniture, and the picture frames. His heart ached with the memories of his once happy family and he felt Kavinsky’s hand slide back into his own.

            They explored the house, stopping every once in a while for Ronan to tell Kavinsky a story. He told him of being the only one to see Matthew’s first steps and subsequently being the only one who knew Matthew could walk for about two weeks. He told him about the days in high school when he’d lay out in the fields with the cows, watching them walk, speaking Latin to them like he thought they’d understand. He told Kavinsky about his first kiss in his bedroom, about not knowing if Adam wanted to kiss him too, about having all his friends in his home for a few hours – even if he wasn’t technically allowed to be there.

            When they finished the tour, they got to work pulling the plastic from the furniture and cleaning what they could. Afterwards, they flopped onto the couch in front of the empty fireplace and Ronan rested his head on Kavinsky’s shoulder. Despite the trying day, his heart felt light and happy.

            “You mentioned a party earlier,” Ronan said. “I think.”

            Kavinsky hummed. “Yeah. The whole crew’s coming out tonight. It’s Halloween, after all.”

            “No one ever trick-or-treats here.”

            “I know.” Kavinsky was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I invited the kids from work to come.”

            Ronan shifted to get a better look at his fiancé. “What kids from work? The teenagers at that stupid club?”

            Kavinsky laughed. “No. I’ve been... mentoring at this youth shelter and, uh, teaching them about the dangers of drugs and shit. And I thought maybe, now that we had the Barns, they could come out here for Halloween and eat candy and dance and shit without worrying about being tempted by all the shit out there and getting in trouble or slipping or something. Thought I’d do something nice for them, is all. But we don’t have to.”

            “I can’t believe you made me worry about that stupid club when you were helping kids at a fucking shelter, you fucking asshole.”

            “You love me.”

            Ronan shook his head. “Well, I’m a fucking idiot.”

            Kavinsky leaned in to kiss him and Ronan kissed him back, happy. Too happy to worry about anything else.

 

The party went well. It was nothing compared to the Fourth of July but it was safe and fun. Ronan saw Kavinsky bond with teenagers, crack jokes, scold them for being assholes. Kavinsky laughed with Gansey, got into a heated discussion with Blue about women’s rights and eventually agreed with her point of view, and he also set off a bottle rocket in the backyard with Henry.

            Ronan spent the night meeting kids who looked up to his fiancé. He bobbed for apples and ate too much candy and let his beloved Barns be filled with people he didn’t know, people who loved Kavinsky as much as he did. And seeing his fiancé smile without the alcohol, without the drugs, without the constant threat of danger, Ronan felt his heart swell for him.

            The night wore on, the party wound down. People filed out into the darkness, promising to text Kavinsky when they were home, hugging Ronan, and thanking them for the night. Ronan leaned against the door sleepily, half hanging on to Kavinsky, and smiled when Blue, Gansey, and Henry got to the door last.

            “You know what you’re doing?” Gansey said.

            “For once?” Ronan smiled. “Yeah.”

            Gansey hugged him and then Kavinsky as well. Blue kissed them both on the cheek. Henry pulled them both into a hug, kissed both their cheeks, then threw a peace sign on his way out the door.

            When the door shut, Kavinsky said, “Your friends are losers.”

            “You love them,” Ronan said, turning his gaze on his fiancé.

            Kavinsky kissed him and said nothing.

            When he pulled back, Ronan said, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

            “What?”

            “We should get married. Soon.”

            Kavinsky nodded, sleepy and happy, and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone please tell me when American Thanksgiving is b/c I honestly don't know.


End file.
